No reports of mist, with your TV weatherman. ‘That promises some day!
Were the queen to see this, the queen might wishfully smile.’
She remains at Urk.
‘This year too, the queen, with three old sons in attendance, is inspecting the newest herring.’
Her Type of People trips over the grass parquet.
(On occasions to be removed)
And what is fished up from the grass after the occasion? We are her subjects:
the mischief I got up to on the grass, freckle-nose me!
My budgie starts up.
I want to be in on it all, that’s clear.
